


I Thought I Knew

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Series: For Even a Day [1]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Newsies Quarantine Project, Royalty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: Race has always had a bit of a fantasy of a fairytale romance, but he knows the longer he doesn’t marry for love the more likely a political marriage is. And, for all his dreaming, he’s never met anyone who caught his eye.
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins & David Jacobs, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: For Even a Day [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705639
Comments: 18
Kudos: 138





	I Thought I Knew

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a fairy tale AU, and ended up being more straight royalty AU. I don't care, though, because I'm pretty happy with it.  
> Bear with me though my first dive into writing Spot and Race at length lol. Also featuring fun with fanon real names and an implication that at Jack and Katherine have something going on with Davey and/or Sarah Jacobs (separately). Shoot me a message on tumblr if you'd like to hear more about this AU, because I know way more about it than what made it into this fic!

“Look, I’m sorry, Racer.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care if you’re _sorry_ , Jack,” Race replies, turning away from his brother and moving to the balcony’s railing. “This ain’t like you and Kitty, you know?”

Jack’s marriage, while also one of political convenience, was to an old friend of theirs. Race doesn’t pretend to understand exactly what Jack has going on with Katherine in their private life, beside a vague awareness of some kind of understanding involving at least one of the Jacobs twins, but he knows it’s a natural match. Katherine’s smart and intimidating and cares a lot about their people. She’ll be a good queen when Jack steps up. Katherine more or less grew up with them; her father is king of a nearby kingdom and she and Jack had been betrothed since they were children.

Spot Conlon, however. Race knows _of_ Spot – how could he not, he became the head of a very influential family last year at a very young age, a few months younger than Race’s own twenty years, and has an intimidating reputation that far precedes him – but the two have never met. The few times Spot’s actually visited the castle, Race has been away or busy.

“I know,” Jack replies. He walks over and leans on the rail next to Race. “I know it ain’t worth much, but Davey likes him.”

It’s worth a lot, actually, that Davey likes Spot. Davey Jacobs is a picky bastard when it comes to friends, it’s a miracle he’s put up with Jack for so long.

“Davey’s opinion matters more to me than yours,” Race says. “Since of the two’a you, he’s the one with a brain in his head.”

Jack laughs. “No argument there.” He sobers a little. “Just keep an open mind, okay Race? I know you weren’t expecting a political marriage, but –“

“It’s my duty, I know,” says Race, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mean I have to like it.”

“Never said you did.” Jack elbows him. “Can I tell Ma you’re in?”

“Reluctantly,” Race answers. He sighs. “Yeah, fine. He’s got a hell of a reputation, but I know I can’t exactly –“

“Your highnesses?” Davey’s slightly distant voice cuts in. Race stops talking, and he and Jack both turn around. He seems to have spoken as he came into the room, because he’s just now closing the door behind him. He looks tired, and is giving Race this sympathetic little smile that tells him whatever’s brought Dave here isn’t good news for him. “Spot Conlon is here. He’s requested to speak with Prince Anthony.”

“Did you tell him,” Race says, crossing the balcony back into his bedchamber in three long strides, “that my name ain’t Anthony?”

“I thought you might like to tell him yourself,” Davey replies. His professional posture – slightly stiff, stick straight – softens a little. “It could be worse, Race. Spot has sisters.”

Race snorts despite himself. “Tell me honestly, Jacobs, what do you think of him? Not that I don’t trust Jack’s opinion, but I don’t trust Jack’s opinion. You used to see a lot of him, right?”

“He’s kind of a dick,” Davey says, shrugging. “But it’s a lot of posturing, mostly. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s got a real soft spot little kids. When our families used to get together, back before his – uh. He always used to bring some little trinket or puzzle for Les.” He makes brief eye contact with Jack over Race’s shoulder, then returns his gaze to the younger prince. “And he’s more than smart enough to keep up with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I think you’ll like him.”

“I’m not worried about whether or not he can _keep up with me_ ,” says Race, crossing his arms. It’s not entirely true; Race is a quick thinker and a quick talker, and he doesn’t want to spend his entire life tied to somebody who can’t follow his leaps of thought. But it’s far from his main concern. “We’ve never met!”

“Then go _meet him_ ,” Davey says, gesturing to the door. “Don’t worry, little prince. I’ll keep your brother out of your hair.”

“I’m _twenty_ , Davey,” Race whines.

Jack comes up next to him, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, and you were three when he met’cha. It ain’t going away.”

Race wriggles away from his brother and pushes past Davey out into the hall. He does _not_ need this right now.

“He’s in the Manhattan room!”

“ _Thank you_ , Davey!”

So Race, for want of something – _anything_ – better to do with his life, makes his way to the Manhattan room, which is a small space just off of the main receiving room lined with portraits of past kings and queens. Race can’t help but idly wonder if Davey was the one who put Spot there, and if so whether he and Jack are trying to torture him. Everyone knows how much Race hates the Manhattan room; he always feels like all the long dead relatives on the walls are watching him and more than a little disappointed. Maybe it’s because not a single one of them was painted smiling.

Race stops just outside the room. It’s not too late to run upstairs and propose to one of the Jacobs twins, is it?

(It is. It’s years too late, and Race knows it.)

“You plannin’ on stayin’ out there?” There’s no wondering who the voice belongs to. “Jacobs went lookin’ for you ages ago. I’m a busy man, you know.”

“Keep your shirt on, Conlon,” Race replies, strolling into the Manhattan room and trying not to make eye contact with any of the portraits. “I’m a prince, I’m allowed to take my time.”

He stops dead in his tracks when he actually sees Spot for the first time – he’s got to be fully six inches shorter than Race. He more than makes up for his stature in muscles and attitude though. He’s broad shouldered – especially for his height – with a strong jaw and black-brown hair. He is, Race honestly hates a little to admit, actually pretty attractive. “Now, what brings you here, Spot?”

“What do you _think_?” Spot says, his arms crossed.

“Your proposal.” Race is doing his best not to sweep his hands through his hair or fiddle with the hem of his tunic or any of the other little fidgety things all his tutors and governesses spent his whole childhood telling him he shouldn’t do in front of people. He tries to affect a slightly more proper manner than comes naturally, channeling Sarah Jacobs, or Katherine maybe. The girls know how you’re supposed to talk to people, right? “My apologies, Mr. Conlon. I’ve only just been informed that you’d _made_ a proposal of marriage, and –“

“Cut the crap, Race,” Spot says, and Race blinks a few times, stunned. So Spot _does_ know. The shock of hearing his nickname fall so naturally from the other man’s mouth keeps Race from pointing out that it’s about six miles from proper address. “It wasn’t my idea. This whole marriage thing. I won’t be offended if you turn me down.”

“Sounds like you _want_ me to turn you down,” says Race. “What, marrying the second-born prince ai- isn’t good enough for you?”

“My sisters think my public image is too ‘intimidating,’” Spot says, sketching quotes around the last word with his fingertips. “They think settling down will ‘mellow me.’”

“And you don’t want to settle down?”

“I can take or leave it,” Spot admits with a shrug. “But I’ve known David Jacobs a long time, and he’s known _you_ a long time. I know you’ve got some starry-eyed dream of marrying for love, and I don’t want you feeling obligated. The political alliance with the Conlons is secure whether you marry me or not, and the other Brooklyn families will follow where I lead.”

“Spot,” Race says, “I’ve already agreed.”

“Shit, I didn’t make it in time,” replies Spot. “Or – apologies. Do you even care that I’m swearing?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Race answers. It draws a surprisingly genuine smile from Spot. “I appreciate the consideration, Spot, but it’s fine. I’m – it’s fine.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, really. If Spot wants to retract his proposal, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Race doesn’t want to marry Spot any more than Spot seems to want to marry him.

If not Spot, though, who? Race has always had a bit of a fantasy of a fairytale romance, but he knows the longer he doesn’t marry for love the more likely a political marriage is. And, for all his dreaming, he’s never met anyone who caught his eye.

“Do _you_ want this?” Race repeats. “Because if you’re looking for me to give you an out, I will march right back upstairs to my brother and tell him that I couldn’t stand you and I can’t possibly marry you.” He finally gives in, running his hands through his hair and thoroughly ruining any order it had been arranged in.

“I’m not looking for an out,” Spot says. “We’re just strangers. I know you don’t want to marry a stranger, and I can’t say I’m thrilled about the prospect either.”

 _Then meet him_ , Davey’s voice echoes in Race’s head. _I think you’ll like him_.

Race shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment. “I _don’t_ want to marry a stranger.”

“But we’re both getting a little old to be unattached,” says Spot. “And I’m sure you have worse options than me on the table.”

“How long are you in the city?” Race blurts, a half-formed idea coming to him. The Conlon estate is out in the Brooklyn region, not an especially long journey from the capitol city but not a short one either. There’s no way Spot came all the way here without intending to stay a few days.

“Until Saturday,” Spot answers. He’s got a funny look on his face, like he’s trying to puzzle Race out.

“Get to know me,” says Race. “We don’t have to be in love, anyway. Jack and Katherine –“ He shakes his head. “Spend a few days with me, between your other commitments. If after that we don’t feel we can be at least friends, retract your proposal.”

“Okay.”

Race spits into his palm and holds his hand out for Spot to shake. Spot stares at him for a beat too long, and Race is starting to panic because this is the stupid, childish way that he and Charlie and Jack (and, reluctantly, Davey) seal agreements and what if Spot thinks it’s disgusting or dumb, but then Spot grins. He spits into his own hand and shakes Race’s hand firmly.

Oh, he could like this boy.

\--

“How did it go?” Jack asks. He’s draped across a couch, since he’s never sat like a normal person in his life, with one of his legs on Sarah Jacobs’s lap. Sarah looks up from her needlework.

“Spot, right?” she says.

Race nods. “We’re going to try to see each other a bit while he’s here, to get to know each other. But he actually came to tell me he wouldn’t be offended if I turned down the proposal.”

“I’ve never known him to change his mind,” Sarah says, surprised. “He’s usually one of those people who says ‘this is what I’m doing, deal with it’ and takes no argument.”

“I don’t know,” says Race, “he seemed almost nervous about the whole thing. Said his sisters forced him into it.” He looks pointedly at Jack. “I can relate.”

“Are you taking him up on the offer?” Jack asks, sitting up a little straighter. “Because I already told Ma you’d do it.”

Race waves him off. “No. Maybe? Like I said, we’re going to try to see each other while he’s here. He may take back the proposal, though. If he, like, can’t stand me.”

“ _I_ can’t stand you,” says Jack. “Come on, Racer, really?”

“I’m not marrying a stranger, Jack.” Race puts his hands into his pockets. “Or someone I hate, or who hates me. I’m going to get to know him, but it might not work out.”

Sarah smiles, looking back down at her project. “I think it will, Race. He’s just your kind of stubborn son of a bitch.”

\--

“Is it true you’re some kinda genius?”

Race almost falls out of the tree he’s perched in. “Fucking hell, Conlon. Warn a guy.”

Spot’s standing below him, looking up with his hands in his pockets. “I assumed you’d hear me coming.”

“I was _way_ too zoned out for that,” Race says. He carefully climbs down a few branches before dropping to the ground in front of Spot.

“Thinking about something important?” Spot asks.

Yes and no, thinks Race. He came out here to think about his project with Davey, but had quickly been sidetracked into thinking about – well, about Spot. Not that he’ll own that. “Trying to work out a solution to something David and I have been working on. We’re looking to redesign the irrigation systems our local farmers use, to make them more efficient.”

“So you are,” Spot says, squinting up at Race’s face.

“Am what?”

“A genius.”

“Not hardly,” says Race. He waves the idea away. “Just practical, and good with numbers. Nothing important; I can’t handle _people_ for the life of me, but that’s why Jack’s going to be king and not me.”

“Here’s me, thinking it had something to do with birth order,” Spot replies.

Race shoves him, but there’s no real force behind it. “Smartass.”

“I’m told it’s part of my charm.” Spot winks. He hesitates for a moment, then offers his arm to Race so they can walk together. “Tell me about your project?”

“Well, right now we’re using –“ Race starts, taking Spot’s arm. He lets himself ramble a little – if he’s going to marry this man, he ought to know what he’s getting into. It feels a little odd to be escorted by someone so much smaller than him, but he can’t deny that it’s kind of nice. And there had been no hesitation, no moment of _will he – should I -_ like had happened with the handful of other men who’d tried for Race’s affections.

(There had been no such moment with the few young ladies he’d been introduced to, but where some things had been easier, the fact remained that Race has never really had an eye for girls at all.)

Spot knew what he wanted to do, and he did it. And Race can tell he’s actually listening to what Race is saying, even though it’s a lot of technical nonsense. The part of Race that is exactly the romantic fool that his brothers and the Jacobs twins and Katherine think he is is absolutely swooning.

\--

Race finds Spot in the gardens again the next day. He’s deeply engrossed in a book, biting his lip. Race figures Spot deserves a little payback for startling him yesterday, so he creeps up behind the smaller man and –

“That you, Race?” Spot says without looking up.

Race falls haphazardly onto the bench next to him. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve got great peripheral vision,” Spot replies idly. “Also, you’re loud as hell.”

“What’cha reading?” asks Race, leaning on Spot a little to look over his shoulder. It’s handwritten, looks like mostly lists.

“Nothing interesting, unfortunately,” says Spot. He closes the book to show Race the cover. _Social Notes_ is written – again by hand – in smudged ink on the front. “I’ve been away from the city for a while, so I’ve got all these social events, but quite honestly I can’t be bothered to remember anything about anybody.”

Race laughs, he can’t help it. “So what’s this, then? Reminders of names and shit?”

“Exactly,” says Spot, rolling his eyes. “Niamh puts a lot of work into making sure it’s up to date, though, so I shouldn’t complain. It’s saved my ass a few times.”

“Niamh is your sister, right?” Race asks. “The, uh, middle one?”

“Oldest,” Spot corrects, but he’s smiling. Race doesn’t know if he’s happy Race remembered, or if it’s just how much he loves talking about his sisters. “Hotshot thinks she can run the whole family. I’m almost inclined to let her.”

“And what would you do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Retire to the castle and watch my gorgeous husband be a brilliant engineer,” says Spot. His tone is light, but he’s not looking at Race.

It’s the first time either of them has alluded to their (maybe) engagement since that first day. Race’s breath catches – he’s been thinking about it almost non-stop, because _yeah_ Spot is exactly as much of a dick as the twins promised but he’s also confident and pretty sweet and kinda hot. But this means Spot’s been thinking about it, too.

(Also, _brilliant engineer_! Gorgeous!)

“You’d be bored out of your mind and terrorizing the nobles in a week,” Race replies, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Spot’s face falls a little, so Race adds, “It’s a good thing I can engineer from a Brooklyn estate.”

Spot’s eyes snap to Race’s face. “That so?”

“Let me tell you a secret, Spot,” Race says, leaning close but not dropping his voice at all. “I _also_ don’t care enough to remember anything about anybody.”

Spot’s laugh isn’t elegant or restrained, and Race has the instinctive sense that it’s not a sound most people have heard. He loves it.

\--

“Why Race?”

“You want the version we tell my mother, or the truth?”

Spot snorts. “Definitely the truth. But I’m now far more curious about it, since Jacobs never let on there was a secret reason.”

“That’s cause it’s Davey’s fault there’s a secret reason,” Race says, fighting down a laugh of his own. “When we were teenagers – I think he and Jackie were, like, fifteen or sixteen, maybe –“

“What’s that make you?” Spot interrupts.

“Thirteen,” Race answers distractedly. He waves a hand to indicate _shut up, I’m trying to tell a story_. Spot holds his hands up. “Right. Davey’s always been on me about usin’ my smarts _constructively_. Which led for a number of reasons to us finding out that I am a _very_ good gambler.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” says Race. “You can ask either one of them – Race is short for _Racetrack_. ‘Cause once I got good at bettin’, I kept sneakin’ away to the horse races.”

“You are something else, Racer,” replies Spot, shaking his head. “So what do you tell your mama?”

“It’s cause I’m wicked fast, and I win every race I run,” Race says, leaning into the slightly rehearsed cadence.

Spot laughs. It’s getting easier and easier to coax it out of him, Race finds, and he’s absolutely hooked on the sound of it.

“Prove it.”

“Nah, I ain’t gettin’ up,” Race replies. They’re in the comfortable shade of a big tree, leaning against the trunk. “I got about a mile of leg on you, anyway, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“That’s a low blow, man.” Spot throws a playful punch that makes firm but decidedly non-damaging contact with Race’s shoulder.

“What about you, Spot?”

“What do you mean?”

Race rolls his eyes. “I ain’t Anthony, I’m Race. You call yourself Spot, but it’s really –“

“Sean,” Spot supplies. “It’s Sean. The reason’s not as good as yours, though. Spot’s just what my dad called me when I was little, and it stuck.”

“Sean,” Race repeats.

“Anthony,” Spot says pointedly.

“Yeah, I gotcha. _Anybody_ use your given name?”

“Not if they know what’s good for ‘em,” says Spot. He settles back against the tree, his shoulder just touching Race’s. “Well, Aisling does sometimes. But she’s ten and my sister, so she gets immunity.”

“What about your husband?” Race asks, looking up at the cloudless sky. “Will he get immunity, too?”

“Nah, he’s a dumbass with a nickname just as stupid as mine,” replies Spot.

Race pushes him away, laughing, but when they settle it’s right back to the same positions as before – just touching, not looking at each other, their hands almost-but-not-quite intertwined.

\--

“I’m not going to withdraw my proposal.”

“What an unbelievably romantic thing to say, Spot Conlon. I’ve never blushed this much in my life.”

Spot rolls his eyes. They’re back in the Manhattan room, being watched by all of Race’s dead grandparents and also by Davey Jacobs, who’s hanging back by the door to give them a little privacy. He doesn’t laugh, even though Race can see the corners of his mouth curving up at his flat delivery. Race wonders if he’s trying to maintain his reputation because Davey’s there.

The idea of that makes Race’s heart flutter a little, because if it were true it would mean he’d made it through Spot’s legendary walls. It would mean that Spot had let him in further in a handful of days than he’d let Davey in 14 years.

“I won’t be back for a few months,” Spot says. He’s not quite meeting Race’s eye. “But I’d like to write you.”

“I’d like that,” Race replies. On an impulse – shocker – he darts forward and kisses Spot on the cheek. “See you in a few months, Conlon.”

“S-see you around, highness,” says Spot.

Spot leaves without another word, his eyes wide. Race turns on his heel, sure his face is bright red based on how warm it feels. Davey is grinning at him.

“Not a word, David Jacobs,” Race says, shaking his head as they walk out of the room together. “Not a fucking _word_.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Davey replies, but he looks unfairly amused. “Except maybe –“

“Racetrack! David!”

The boys turn to see Katherine coming down the hall. She’s been away for three weeks, visiting her family back in her father’s kingdom. She runs right into Davey’s waiting arms, and he lifts her off the floor a little, spinning on the spot. Once he puts her down she turns to Race, who gives her his own slightly more subdued hug.

“Heya, Kitty!” Race greets.

“I miss anything important?” Katherine asks, as the three of them start to walk together on the same path upstairs Race and Davey had already been on.

“A visit from Spot Conlon,” says Davey, and then because he _hates Race_ , “and our little prince falling in love.”

“Race!” says Katherine, pulling him in with one arm. “Who?”

“His fiancé,” Davey says.

“ _Racetrack!”_ says Katherine. She’s grinning, the same teasing grin Davey’s been wearing since Spot left. “Not Spot Conlon?”

“Definitely Spot Conlon,” says Davey. Race’s face is burning, and it’s all he can do to keep walking with his friends and not bolt and hide in his bedchamber until next July from embarrassment. “Isn’t that right, Racer?”

“I hate you,” Race says. “I hate both of you so, so much, you two and Jack were made for each other.”

Katherine says, “Thank you,” and Davey says, “Naturally,” and then they both look at Race like they’re expecting him to say something else. He rolls his eyes.

“It’s a good match,” Race says finally. “Very practical. Niamh and Maebh, his oldest sisters, actually made the formal proposal, and Spot didn’t know they’d reached out until after they’d sent their letter to Mama. Came into town as soon as he was able. Shockingly thoughtful, actually. He said _someone_ had told him I’m a romantic and didn’t want an arranged marriage to a stranger if I could avoid it –“

“So he came to get to know you?” Katherine asks.

“He came to take it back, actually,” Race says. “But we agreed that we could, um, see if we got along while he’s visiting. And we did. The end.”

“Tell her what you did when he left.”

“No.”

“What did he do?”

“David, I swear –“

“Kissed him on the cheek! It was _very_ sweet.”

Katherine pulls Race closer, squeezing him in a slightly suffocating hug. “Aw, our little Racer’s growing up!”

“I hate both of you. I hate you so, so much.”

\--

“Race, there’s a letter for you.”

“Thanks, Sarah. Can you leave it on the desk?”

“Of course,” Sarah replies. Race hears her take a few steps, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. She pauses, then starts walking again, this time getting closer to the bed where he’s lying face down with a pillow over his head. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Race says, lying through his teeth. His head is pounding, every sliver of light and tiny sound stabbing into his brain like an ice pick. “Actually. Could you close the curtains?”

“Sure,” says Sarah, her voice a little lower. After a moment and a few more footsteps, the room gets noticeably darker even to Race buried under a pillow.

“God, Sarah, I love you,” Race mumbles into the mattress. “You’re too good for my brother. If I liked women I’d have snapped you up ages ago.”

Sarah laughs. She comes back over toward the bed and rubs Race’s back for a moment. “You’re sweet when you’re sick. Never any other time, but always when you don’t feel well.” She pats his shoulder one more time before walking away. “Enjoy your letter from Spot.”

Race sits up, pillow falling aside. He’s moved way too fast, his head is spinning, and he regrets it immediately. “It’s from Spot?”

“Yes, you funny thing,” Sarah replies. “You know, I’m not sure Jack quite believes that you two hit it off so well, but he’s definitely going to believe it when I tell him what you just did.”

Race groans, flopping back onto the mattress. “Never mind, you’re the worst and you and Jack deserve each other.”

Sarah just laughs as she leaves.

\--

Race has been in sporadic contact with Spot since his visit a few months ago. They’re both busy men, and sometimes letters go unanswered for days or weeks, but neither is ever offended by the delay. Spot has easily become one of Race’s dearest friends quite quickly, and Race has heard no end to the teasing from his brothers and their friends.

Spot’s latest letter arrived yesterday, and Race hates to admit the disappointed ache that settled in his chest when he read it. It starts normal, full of updates about Spot’s sisters and home life, questions about Race’s current projects and stories he’d heard second hand from another nobleman who’d recently visited the castle. But the last paragraph makes Race’s heart sink.

_One more thing, Race. There’s no good way to tell you this, I know you won’t be happy with me no matter how I phrase it. I won’t be able to make it to your birthday._

_I know I promised I’d make it work, but local issues came up and I can’t leave these dumbasses to work it out themselves. I swear, if I could go I’d be there, but you know I can’t leave Hotshot to manage our neighbors herself, she’d_ murder _them. I’m sorry. I’ll see you soon, though – I promise._

He hasn’t seen Spot since that first week, back in March. Ever since he promised he’d be attending the party for Race’s 21st birthday, Race has been looking forward to the day more than he’d ever looked forward to a stuffy party full of royalty and adjacent parties in his _life_.

And now Spot isn’t coming.

“You okay, Racer?” Charlie asks, crawling across the couch and curling up under his big brother’s arm. He leaves the book he was reading open over the arm of the couch, where his crutches are propped. “You look sad.”

“Yeah, Crutch,” Race replies. “That’s ‘cause I’m really fucking sad.”

Charlie pokes Race’s side. “What would Mama say if she heard you cursin’ in front of me?”

“That you’re eighteen in two months and you can handle it,” says Race, poking back. He knows Charlie’s plan worked, though; he’s smiling for the first time since Spot’s letter arrived two days ago.

“What’s up, Race?”

“Spot’s not coming to the party anymore.”

“Well, shit,” says Charlie.

“ _Charlie!”_

Charlie grins. He wriggles a little closer, resting his head against Race’s shoulder. “For real, though, Tony. I know you were lookin’ forward to seein’ Spot again. It sucks he’s not gonna be there.”

“Yeah,” Race says, letting his cheek rest against his brother’s head. “It really sucks.”

“But hey!” Charlie says brightly, “ _I’m_ still gonna be there! And Jack and Kathy, and the twins! We may not be _Spot Conlon_ , but we’re still pretty fun, right? And we love you.”

“I love you, too.” Race kisses the top of Charlie’s head. “You guys are the most fun. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

\--

For all that these big, formal parties could get a bit boring, Race has to admit it’s kind of fun to get all dressed up. As a prince, he never exactly wears anything that isn’t _nice_ , but this is something else. He’ll never get over the feeling of a really nice, slippery fabric over his skin. Parties like this are the only time he can stand long sleeves.

He and Jack and Charlie are all dressed in shades of blue, for the family crest and the country flag. They look a little bit like children whose mother dressed them to match – mostly because they are, even at eighteen, twenty-one, and twenty-three, children whose mother dressed them to match.

(Or, at least, children whose mother had someone dress them to match.)

Katherine’s on Jack’s arm, of course, looking as gorgeous as ever. She’s in a gown that’s a shimmery cool purple, red hair swept up into a complicated looking bun. She’s got a small, delicate tiara tucked into her hair. Race knows he should know what the fairly simple metal bands he and his brothers are wearing in place of more complex crowns are called, but he doesn’t care.

The twins are escorting each other, as always. They travel as a unit at social functions, often claiming that it deterred potential suitors (which neither of them want), although Race knows it’s as much so they always have someone to be quietly snarky with. They compliment Jack and Katherine perfectly; David’s burnt orange vest picks up on Jack’s dark blue shirt just so, Sarah’s warm yellow gown makes Katherine’s pop and vice versa. Despite how oddly autumnal the twins looked for the season, it’s clearly intentional – they match each other, they coordinate neatly with the prince and his princess, without distracting from them. It’s a quiet show of claim, if you know to look for it, although Race can hardly be sure whether it’s the twins claiming Jack and Katherine as theirs, or Jack and Katherine toward Davey and Sarah.

One way or another, the four of them are a hell of a picture.

Unfortunately for Race, he doesn’t have the luxury of sticking as closely to his siblings or friends as he’d like, because this is _his_ party. So he’s making rounds at Mama’s side, greeting people and making miserable small talk and wishing he’d had Spot’s social notes book to refresh on before the party. He doesn’t remember who half of these people are.

“Queen Medda?” Davey says, approaching Race and his mother.

“Yes, David?” Mama replies.

“Would it be possible for me to borrow Prince Anthony for a moment?” Davey asks respectfully. “Prince Jack and my sister have a dispute they’d like him to settle.”

Mama smiles knowingly, although Race isn’t quite sure what it is she knows. “Of course, David, dear. Take good care of him for me.”

“I always do, your majesty.”

Davey leads Race away from Mama, to the back of the ballroom and out into the garden.

“What are Jack and Sarah on about now?” Race asks as they walk.

Davey just smiles at him. “You’ll see.”

They turn a corner, into a smaller garden courtyard. Sarah and Jack are there, but they’re having what seems to be a pretty low key conversation, which stops as soon as Race and Davey arrive. Katherine and Charlie are also there, chatting quietly.

Race barely notices any of them, though, because there’s a fifth person waiting in the courtyard.

“You _dick!”_ he shouts, running into Spot’s open arms. Somehow, Spot manages to lift Race off his feet for a moment in the hug, despite being so much smaller. “You said you weren’t coming!”

“I thought you might like a surprise,” Spot says. They step apart, but not far enough that they lose physical contact – Race’s hands are still resting on Spot’s upper arms, Spot’s are at Race’s waist. “You’re crying.”

“Hell yes, I’m crying,” Race replies, with no shame at all. “This was such a dumb thing to do.”

“You’re a romantic,” says Spot. He brings a hand up to Race’s cheek, sweeping a tear away with his thumb. “It’s a romantic gesture.”

“It’s what?”

Spot pulls away, dropping to one knee. “Anthony ‘Racetrack’ Manhattan Larkin, will you marry me?”

He even pulls a goddamned ring out of his pocket.

“Spot – _Sean_ , we’re already engaged,” Race replies, but it comes out shaky and soft.

“That was a business deal,” Spot says. “This is for us. What do you say, Racer?”

“Yeah,” says Race. “Of course. Even though you enlisted my siblings in a dirty, dirty trick, I’ll marry you.”

Spot’s back on his feet in an instant, slipping the ring onto Race’s finger and pulling him into a kiss. It should feel odd or awkward, with six inches of height between them, but it’s the most natural thing Race has ever done.

Distantly, he’s aware of Jack, Charlie, Katherine, Davey, and Sarah cheering and laughing. He barely notices them, though.

Race had always wanted a fairy tale. But, he thinks as he pulls away from the sweetest kiss he’s had in his life, real life is more than enough.


End file.
